You may remember last November when both Sophie and Naomi went to the emergency within 5 hours of each other. They were both running high fevers and couldn’t keep liquids down.
But with Sophie, a small purplish-red rash appeared on her belly. We called the health hotline and the nurse said to take her in to emergency right away. So, at 11:30 pm, I loaded Sophie into the car with her pajamas on under her warm winter jacket, and she brought Winnie-the-Pooh along for comfort.
A doctor came in and examined Sophie, who was in no mood to be poked.
“Yup, the rash looks raised,” the doctor said. “I’d better get someone else to look at this as well.”
A few minutes later, the doctor appeared at the door accompanied by another doctor. They rubbed Sophie’s rash, muttered doctor-speak back and forth, they sounded so solemn and serious. Finally one of them said, “There’s someone else that should look at this. The fever and the rash could be an indication of serious illness. We’ll need to get some blood from her.”
Words every parent dreads. All at once I had visions of hospital beds, huge needles, and little tiny coffins.
What made matters immediately worse...(the rest here)